


Private Security

by i_am_a_hog



Series: Private Security [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Art Dealer!Napoleon, Bodyguard!Illya, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Content, as frustrated as that leaves Napoleon, bitch I, horny!Napoleon, idek, kissing to avoid being caught?, no actual sexual content, this is horny, this is just really horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_hog/pseuds/i_am_a_hog
Summary: Written for a tropes-crossover tumblr prompt: Bodyguard AU + fake dating.I turned the body guard into Private Security and the fake dating into fake-hooking-up-so-we-don't-get-discovered!Rated M because Napoleon be Horney.





	Private Security

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! Long time no see! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Napoleon was not a stranger to Private Security. As an art dealer with a less than favourable reputation with his favourite customers, Napoleon needed to make sure that he was well protected. Of course he fared rather well on his own, but having a backup, somebody professional to rely on, was never a bad idea in this business.

Thus, Napoleon was not a stranger to Private Security. In fact he was not even a stranger to this particular employee in the Private Security sector: This was the third time the company had sent him one Illya Kuryakin.

Kuryakin was a mountain of a man, in the best of ways and from the very first time Napoleon had laid eyes on him, he knew it was going to take a lot of concentration to keep his thoughts on the topic of whatever deal he was negotiating, rather than going back to mentally undressing Kuryakin.

The second time had not been any easier. Napoleon hated how well the trousers hugged Kuryakin’s ass and how obscenely big his hands were. And the intensity of Kuryakin’s grey-blue eyes. And the way his tongue sometimes darted out to wet his lips. Just enough to get Napoleon going. He hated how distracting Kuryakin was, while he never wanted to look at anybody else at the same time.

And now, at this auction, Napoleon had contributed some very fine pieces to, Kuryakin would once again trace his every step.

“Illya!” Napoleon smirked and Kuryakin immediately frowned.

“Do not call me ‘Illya’.”

“But that’s your name, isn’t it?” Napoleon countered. Kuryakin’s frown deepened and he did not meet Napoleon’s eyes.

“Unprofessional,” he only grumbled and went on to open the door of the sleek black limousine.

“Thanks, darling,” Napoleon said with a wink and he could have sworn that Kuryakin blushed before the door was slammed shut with just a bit more force than what was strictly necessary.

The ride to the location passed in silence. Napoleon had made the mistake of speaking to Kuryakin once while he was driving and he had not liked it in the least, refusing to engage in any of the banter Napoleon threw at him over the course of the evening. This was something Napoleon did not want to risk in any case, because even though he knew Kuryakin was strictly off limits, that did not stop him from properly getting worked up about the way Kuryakin’s fingers handled the car keys or the way his eyes were always – _always_ – on Napoleon, and releasing all the frustration and pent up arousal in one or several orgasms later that night.

As soon as they had arrived however, Napoleon stepped past Kuryakin just a few inches too closely, brushing their hands together.

“So. Why do they always send you to me?” Granted, Napoleon had been this close to requesting Kuryakin specifically, but he did not have to know that.

“I suppose it has to do with overly … enthusiastic review you submitted.”

And then there was that. Napoleon had been in a sort of post-coital haze when he had written the whole thing – at three AM, after two amazing rounds with a hotel clerk who had been able to satisfy Napoleon’s desires at least for the time being.

“Oh yes,” Napoleon answered absentmindedly, half-thrown-back to that night, half-concentrating on not getting noticed while he removed watches from wrists and wallets from pockets.

He was pretty sure that Kuryakin was aware of this, but Napoleon paid good money to have him keep quiet and watch his back.

The night went over in a blur. Napoleon’s pieces were sold for a considerable sum and the treasures rattling in his pockets were going to add a nice number to it.

He had just removed a last watch from an elderly lady’s wrist, twirled it between his fingers once, when there was an eardrum-shattering scream behind him.

“Hey! That’s him there! He took my watch! I know his deals are crooked but he’s a literal thief too –“

And without waiting for the end of her tirade, Napoleon took off, throwing open a door to a less glamorous part of the building. He ran through grey corridors, trying to lose the footsteps and shouts behind him.

Then, all of a sudden, a hand grabbed his forearm tightly, pulling him down into a staircase. Kuryakin was starting to remove Napoleon’s jacket, before he even knew what was going on. The other man himself was already half-undressed, his naked torso a sight to behold while he towered over Napoleon, throwing the Jacket down the stairs.

“What –“ Napoleon started, but Kuryakin just slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet.”

Napoleon tried to peer past Kuryakin but he was blocking the view into the corridor and the steps were still getting closer and –

And then Kuryakin was kissing Napoleon and the moan that escaped his throat was so filthy, that even he himself was a bit embarrassed – and Napoleon was almost never embarrassed. Kuryakin was running his hands down his sides, settling above Napoleon’s hips, pulling him closer as if he wanted to hide him from the whole world…

Napoleon mentally rolled his eyes. Of course that was what Kuryakin was trying to do! But then his brain shut down completely when one of those hands left his hip and came up to cradle the side of his head instead – the side of his face would have been an understatement, given the size of Kuryakin’s hands. When he slipped his tongue deeper into Napoleon’s mouth, establishing the dominance Napoleon so yearned for, the latter stopped resisting in every way and tried to melt into the taller man. His heartbeat was pounding heavily in his ears –

Kuryakin pulled away as abruptly as it had all started.

“Come back,” Napoleon panted, trying to grasp at Kuryakin – unsuccessfully.

“No. They have given up search. Go down stairs, I will meet you at exit with car in five minutes.”

And just like that he was gone and Napoleon was left alone with trembling knees, a raging hard-on, and the phantom touch of Kuryakin’s strong fingers, lingering on his skin.

He barely remembered how he made it down the stairs, but the second, Kuryakin pulled up at the door, Napoleon stumbled through and collapsed on the passenger seat.

“That was more than your job,” he said before he remembered their car-vow-of-silence.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kuryakin replied. “Driving car, securing your person. Is exactly my job.” He looked at the road, stoically, not once glancing over at Napoleon. He had only put on his shirt, buttoned up sloppily and – God! – that was a good look on him.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Napoleon insisted, part of him hoping that Kuryakin would pull over at the side of the road and shut him up. To feel those fingers close around his throat or inside his mouth. Or indeed to have an entirely different part of him in his mouth – these thoughts did not help with Napoleon’s rather uncomfortable boner situation at all.

When Kuryakin did not respond, Napoleon reached over, let his hand run down the strong, toned forearm until it lay on top of Kuryakin’s. It trembled slightly beneath his touch and Napoleon knew that it would not take much now to break him.

When Kuryakin pulled over, Napoleon closed his eyes for a second in relief. Finally! But Kuryakin did not move, so he opened them again.

“I believe we are here,” he said, but his usually calm and composed voice was breaking and Napoleon could not hold back any longer. He surged forward and captured Kuryakin’s lips once more. They tilted their heads simultaneously, both equally eager, but after a moment, a strong hand pushed at Napoleon’s chest.

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” he said and evaded Napoleon’s attempt to kiss him again.

“Kuryakin,” Napoleon breathed out. “Please.”

But Kuryakin just pushed him back into his seat, undid the seatbelt and whispered into his ear:

“It’s Illya.”

As Napoleon climbed the stairs to his apartment, completely wrecked from just two kisses, he realised that he could not possibly play pretend-it’s-Kuryakin with anybody tonight. It was just him and his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it. If you liked it, as always - kudos and comments are extremely highly appreciated! <3


End file.
